


In Dreams

by CuddlyHawk, LoudAlligator



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Repossession AU - Fandom
Genre: 6000 Years of Slow Burn (Good Omens), Abusive Workplace, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale Whump (Good Omens), Caretaker Fatigue, Coma, Communication, Consent Issues, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Whump (Good Omens), Crowley's Plants (Good Omens), Dubious Consent, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Happy Ending, Eye Gouging, Eye Trauma, Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Gabriel is a dick, Gardens & Gardening, Gen, Happy Ending, Healing, Healthy Relationships, Hurt Crowley, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Injury Recovery, Lack of Communication, M/M, Non-Consensual Touching, Past Rape/Non-con, Pieces of Eden, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Psychological Torture, Rape, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery, Rape/Non-con Elements, Recovery, Repossession AU, Repossession Universe, Slow Burn, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Torture, but they're trying, many soft moments
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:55:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23524975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CuddlyHawk/pseuds/CuddlyHawk, https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoudAlligator/pseuds/LoudAlligator
Summary: Immediately following Crowley's 'failure' during the test with Michael, Gabriel follows through with his promise to start things from the very beginning. And this time he won't hold back. Little does he know, every being has its breaking point and as it turns out, he just found Crowley's.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley/Gabriel (Good Omens)
Comments: 26
Kudos: 82





	In Dreams

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dreamsofspike](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamsofspike/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Repossession](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19710115) by [dreamsofspike](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamsofspike/pseuds/dreamsofspike). 



> This story immediately follows chapter 31 of Repossession (you can read it [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19710115/chapters/48399250#workskin))

"Please, please don't do this, _please_ –" Crowley choked, ceasing his wretched begging. Gabriel held his finger on the button of the remote and looked down at him coolly, the promise of indescribable pain in his eyes. Not that Crowley could see it, what with his gaze locked fearfully onto the ground even as his body convulsed in the debilitating agony of a climbing level 08 punishment.

Even after the collar reached its highest setting, Gabriel kept his finger pressed relentlessly on the button, as though he himself could ratchet up the pain beyond a 10 simply if he pressed the button harder.

Crowley's eyes rolled back, unseeing as tears spilled over his cheeks and veins became prominent in his temple and neck. Gabriel took a deep breath and watched his slave frothing at the mouth on the floor.

It was useless.

Ages of punishments and training—probably close to a year of stopped time, though Gabriel wasn't keeping a very close count—and yet Crowley just couldn't let go of the idea of that stupid principality coming to take him away.

Well, Gabriel had given him the bed as a semblance of comfort so he could make Crowley give it up. Wearing him down piece by piece. All he had left for comfort was the memory of the angel. If he could just break Crowley enough to give that up too, then he would be the perfect slave.

He watched the demon—who was making small noises of agony that he couldn't repress—gag and shiver violently on the ground, and came to a conclusion. He had been patient and forgiving with many of Crowley's mistakes. In fact, he had come to appreciate the demon's body, and his willingness to give himself up to Gabriel. All that was left was the memory of the angel. If he could just erase that...

But no, he couldn't simply erase it. He had to force Crowley to willingly give it up.

And he knew exactly how to do it.

Decision made, he lowered the pain of the collar to 05, and didn't wait for the aftershocks to settle. He snatched the first ring in Crowley's wing and dragged him, still whimpering pitifully in pain, through the halls. Time was stopped, but he was sure Crowley was too out of it to realize the angels around them weren't moving.

Yes, Crowley had passed the test. Yes, he had cut himself and took the pain of the 08 that followed. Yes, he did everything right, for the entire test. But then at the last second, he failed. Michael insisted that he passed, but Gabriel knew better. He was still holding onto a fantasy, and that wouldn't do. He would make sure Crowley gave up even that comfort, and allowed himself to be fully at Heaven's—at _Gabriel's_ —command.

It was a hard decision, what with how much he liked tormenting the demon via his wings. But they were a piece that Crowley treasured. Something he always begged to keep. Those and his eyes. Wings and eyes, things Gabriel could easily give back if there was any kind of scrutiny on him. And if he couldn't give them back for whatever reason, he could say that he banished the demon's wings to the ether, hidden away where the angels in Heaven couldn't sense them. Yes, that could work. And he could train Crowley to be so blindly willing to follow where he says, that no one would even notice he was literally blind.

Plan made, he dragged Crowley to the sterile room and strapped him to the metal table. First the eyes, then the wings.

* * *

Crowley slowly came to himself. He felt his shoulder and arm scraping on the floor and dimly realized he was being dragged. He tried to stand up, to follow on his own. His Master would be very displeased to know that he was not trying to assist.

The next sensation that came was the smell. It was thin and sharp. It reminded Crowley of hospitals. Of alcohol swabs. Of alcohol. Of drinking. Of being drunk with–

Something cold and unyielding snapped around his wrists, and then against his ankles. He cracked his swimming eyes open and tried to look around. Even though it was only vaguely familiar, the sight of the stark white walls sent a spike of hot fear straight through his heart, and he yanked on the binds, trying to sit up. "Wh–!" A sharp slap silenced him, and he turned stinging eyes toward the assailant. Immediately, he looked away when he found Gabriel's cold violet eyes watching him. He also let himself go limp, allowing the restraints to hold him down without fight. "I'm sorry," he whispered, eyes squeezed shut.

"You aren't yet," Gabriel sighed. He sounded casually bored, as though this were some routine procedure he'd rather not perform. "But you will be."

With a snap, Crowley's eyes were wrenched open, and his head was secured in place. Crowley's heart sank and he felt his stomach turn inside out. His whole body went ice cold. He remembered this room now. He remembered it with complete clarity. "W-wait, please." He strained his eyes to the side to see what Gabriel was doing. When the Archangel turned with a very familiar eyedropper in his hand, Crowley couldn't stop himself from fighting the restraints, tugging and squirming with all his might. "Please! I'm sorry, I'm so sorry Master! It was an accident, I didn't mean to! Please, I'll do _anything!_ "

Gabriel sighed again, approaching the side of the table and looking down at him. Crowley couldn't look away no matter how hard he tried, and his heart stuttered with every movement of the dangerous eyedropper. Even from here, he could smell the holy scent on it. It wasn't diluted. And it wasn't a bluff.

"See, sweetheart, you say that," Gabriel spoke slowly, as though he were trying to explain to a child. "But when we ask for information, you refuse to give the right answer. The truth. So clearly, you aren't 'willing to do anything,' as you claim. All we want is the truth. If you can't give that, then you deserve nothing."

And with that, Crowley's whole vision was filled as the eyedropper came closer and closer to his magically-opened eye. He whimpered, pleading, _begging_ for Gabriel to stop. But Gabriel had made up his mind.

When the water dripped into his eye, the absolute agony that lit up his whole face and radiated down his body couldn't be put into words. He thrashed, twisting his body into shapes no human could hope to achieve, and _screamed_ as his vision was literally melted from his skull.

His brain must have blocked out the memory of the first time, of how badly it hurt, because he was sure that it wasn't this bad before. He felt like he was dying. Dimly he realized that he was. A part of him, his eyes, were in fact dying. A piece of him was being taken away, _ripped away_ , and there was nothing he could do about it.

He threatened to pass out multiple times, his ears filling with cotton and his body growing fuzzy. But he was always brought back to reality with a shock from Gabriel, much to Crowley's dismay. He couldn't even escape this pain by losing consciousness.

The second drop was like fire. Like magma dripping directly into his skull through his eye. He felt the pain, he screamed with it, and he desperately wished to die. Wished to discorporate and spend the rest of eternity in Hell. At least there, he could see. At least there, he was a prisoner and not a slave.

When some excess water, finished with ravaging Crowley's eyes, had dripped down his temples, Gabriel unsnapped the restraints and dragged Crowley to his feet. More of the muddy holy water seared down his cheeks, scarring him with macabre, burning tears. Crowley tried opening his white-hot eyes, tried reaching up to rub away the pain. But his hands were suddenly shackled behind him, leaving the water to continue dripping from his eyes. Nearly delusional with pain, Crowley wondered if all of it was holy water, or if some of it was remnants of his own eyes, liquefied and dripping away, leaving scars for all to see. The thought made him feel ill, so he quickly pushed it away and focused on following his Master's lead.

They made it to a very familiar room and Crowley shivered as the cold of the cell reached him. He was still trembling from the collar's relentless 05 punishment, and he could still barely breathe from the agony in his eyes, but he did his absolute best to please Gabriel. He went where Gabriel pushed without a fight. He allowed the Archangel to clamp the blessed chains to his wings, and even stretched them out so it would be easier to reach the rings. He wanted to show how sorry he was.

"I know you're sorry," Gabriel's voice warbled through Crowley's undulating hearing, and he wondered if he had spoken aloud, or if Gabriel was reading his thoughts. "You just aren't sorry enough."

A snap of Gabriel's fingers, and the chains tightened, drawing Crowley's wings farther apart. He sobbed, his mind quickly approaching its limit as his body went through agony after agony. He didn't know what would happen or what he would find if he went over that edge, and he was afraid to find out.

Gabriel was speaking, and Crowley did his best to listen, but he couldn't understand him with fear racing so thoroughly through his veins. Everything was happening so quickly and yet also hardly moving at all. Time was nothing here, as though everything was stopped. But of course it wasn't. Gabriel snapped again, the sharp sound making Crowley flinch violently as the chains wrenched his wings tighter. He whimpered. He babbled. He struggled and strained.

His arms were securely pinned behind him. His wings trembled as they were stretched to a point that was becoming painful. The collar was releasing a relentless level 05 punishment that kept his attention focused solely on pain. His eyes...

He couldn't even think about his eyes.

Another snap, wings became tighter. And again. And again. The pain was starting to ache deep in his shoulders as the joints were pulled beyond their limit. Any small movement felt like he was going to break. He was drawn too taut, like a violin string about to snap. Every joint in his wings wailed, and he sobbed as he tried pushing up with his legs to ease the pain. But there was nothing he could do.

One more snap, one more yank of the chains, and Crowley felt the first _crack_ in his wing as it was wrenched from its socket. He grunted, the pain sharp and throbbing, but nothing he couldn't handle. He was trying to catch his breath when there was another snap of Gabriel's fingers. Another bone popped from its socket. His breath caught and he took deep, stuttering breaths to try to keep quiet. He knew he was making some kind of noise, since his throat felt ragged. He just wasn't sure when it had gotten so raw.

A touch on his chin, lifting his head, guiding him to face upward. Knowing he looked like a mess, Crowley allowed himself to sob only once. Begging pitifully without words for it to end. "Ready?" He heard, but didn't have a chance to reply.

A snap.

The chains retracted completely into the wall, and Crowley promptly blacked out.

It was nice for all of a moment. Then he was being relentlessly pulled back to consciousness. He fought it, trying to stay under the veil. But the veil of darkness was ripped away and he came sputtering to the world of the conscious once more. He gasped, feeling a burn in his lungs. It was a burn that started somewhere in his shoulder blades and spilled hot pain into every inch of his body.

Distantly, he felt an absence behind him. On his right side. Like he was missing something. Something important. But he couldn't figure it out. Of course, he knew what it was, he knew what had happened. But his brain simply refused to accept it.

On his left, he could barely feel his broken wing holding his weight up at an angle, and his shoulder scraped along the wall where he hung. Disoriented, he tried opening his eyes, tried looking around. Wanted to know what had happened. Had to see it with his own eyes to believe it. But he stayed firmly in dark oblivion.

Hands on him. Rough hands, one on the ridge of his wing, and the other bracing against his upper back. One on either side of the dislocated shoulder joint. He cringed, whining softly.

The hands tightened and twisted at breakneck—or, more accurately, break-wing—speed, completely snapping the bone and wrenching the joint apart. Crowley blacked out again, and when he came to, he felt his skin burn as something tore through it, severing the last strain of hope he was clinging to. Once it was completely gone, he abruptly fell to the ground, face-first. The wind knocked from him, and his brain cloudy from losing consciousness twice in the span of a few minutes, he laid on the ground, just trying to survive. He took shivering breaths, felt his body shaking uncontrollably, and was too far gone to even attempt to stop the noises he was making.

Hands on him again, pressing against his upper back. The warmth of healing felt like fire, and even though his heart skipped a beat with fear, he made no movement. He couldn't. It was as though his body wasn't even his anymore.

Then again, his body wasn't his ever since he arrived in Heaven.

The thought was comforting. He was nothing, he was no one. Everything he was belonged to his Master now. No more hiding. No more holding out. Everything was Master's. His eyes, his wings, his body, his very soul. One by one, Master had taken everything from him.

He had gone over the edge, and he found there was nothing left.

* * *

Gabriel hadn't anticipated this. When the chains ripped Crowley apart, only one wing had come off, dangling and dripping blood down the wall and to the floor. The other wing was hanging onto Crowley's body by a thread, and Gabriel was determined to take it off.

His slave was murmuring to himself, indecipherable words that Gabriel couldn't have cared less about. He had been doing it ever since Gabriel had dragged him, kicking and fighting, back to consciousness. Gabriel took a minute to breathe and replenish his angelic power, and then he grabbed Crowley's wing and twisted it off, using a blessed blade to saw through the skin that attempted to hold it together. Crowley, with nothing to hold him up anymore, fell to the ground, whimpering in a sickening heap.

The other black wing now hung by its chain, dripping like its twin. Gabriel spared them a glance, then knelt by his slave, who was quickly bleeding out and going paler by the nonexistent second. He snapped off the cuffs and pressed a healing hand to his back, willing the gaping holes in his back to heal just enough to cauterize them, but the pain was still there, the ache of loss would no doubt still be there, and Crowley would have scars for the rest of his existence to remind him who took his wings.

Crowley went quiet, lying motionless on the ground. Gabriel gave him a quick shock to the heart to bring him back before he could escape to Hell, but Crowley remained on the ground, barely breathing.

Gabriel gave him another violent shock, making him twitch, but when the shock ended, Crowley slumped back to the floor once again. He wasn't even making any noise any more.

The thought that he had destroyed all his past work flashed through Gabriel's mind, and he quickly acknowledged that he wouldn't start time again until Crowley was at least responding to his voice. He couldn't allow the other Archangels to see Crowley's sudden decline into whatever stupor he was in, otherwise they might accuse him of cheating, and he would be found out for messing with time. The punishment that came with that, he was sure he could handle. But Crowley would surely be taken away from him, and _that_ he couldn't stand.

And so he bent down and scooped Crowley into his arms, his mouth pressing into a firm line when he felt just how cold Crowley had become, and took him to the bedroom instead of his original cell. He needed Crowley to come back, at least a little, so that demanded a bit of comfort.

He pushed the door open and gently laid Crowley on the bed. The demon, who had been shivering nonstop for the past hour, had suddenly gone very still, unseeing eye sockets staring blankly ahead at nothing. Gabriel bit his lip, wondering if he had gone too far. He pushed the nagging thought away and reached out to manually lower the collar's punishment from 05 down to 01. Crowley made no movement to show he felt the change.

Gabriel straightened up and glanced around. There wasn't much to do when time wasn't passing. But he could always get ahead on some other work while he waited for Crowley to come to. So with a last glance at him, Gabriel left, closing the door behind him.

He checked on him a few hours later and found no change. The next day yielded the same. Clearly it was going to take more than a day for his body to recover. Gabriel decided to leave him be and only check on him once a day. He had other things to do than worry about his slave not being able to handle a punishment.

He had no idea how long it would take.

After two weeks of no-time, Crowley was still catatonic, and Gabriel began to wonder if he would ever get him back at all. He wanted to break him, but not so thoroughly that he couldn't use him any more. The longer Gabriel looked at him, motionless in bed, the angrier he became. Threats didn't work, gentle touches didn't work. Inflicting pain didn't work either. At one point he had even set the collar all the way up to 08 just to see what would happen, and Crowley's body simply spasmed involuntarily as the collar shocked him, but his face remained completely expressionless, and he made no noise or voluntary movement.

Gabriel tried demanding Crowley come back. He tried miracling his soul to come back to consciousness. But it seemed as though nothing worked. He leaned down and threatened that stupid angel Crowley had been trying so hard to protect. Nothing. He even crept down to Hell, holding tightly to his miracle on time to make sure everything would stay frozen, and checked to see if Crowley had somehow escaped. But no, there was no sign of his slave. And so, more frustrated than ever, he went back to Heaven to wait.

It was almost two months of no-time later when Gabriel began to feel ill. He had ruined the project and he was sure to be found out as soon as time restarted. And then Crowley would be taken from him forever.

No, this wasn't what he wanted at all! He wanted Crowley to serve him fully. To give himself wholly to Gabriel, with no secrets or pieces held back. He wanted him to renounce that disgusting principality and pledge himself to Gabriel. But now he was nothing but a shell of the demon he once was. Gabriel kept trying to bring him to consciousness, but it was like no one was home. He could sense the demon and he knew he hadn't escaped back to Hell. But he was trapped somewhere in his mind where Gabriel couldn't reach him with threats or gentleness or even miracles.

Six months after his mistake, of holding onto time so no one would discover his error, Gabriel couldn't ignore his exhaustion anymore. If he was being honest, he had been feeling weary for a while, but it was only at the six-month mark when he finally admitted it. He was exhausted. Stopping time for himself and Crowley was beyond his power. He usually would let time restart if even for a few moments to give himself a break before stopping it again. But after six months of nonstop holding, it was wearing on him more than he thought possible.

Crowley showed no signs of waking up either. He hadn't had a single change in his state, other than his body healing him the slow, human way. The wounds on his back had scabbed and peeled and were nothing but patches of scarred, leathery skin at this point. His eyes had stopped melting, and had left empty red sockets in their place, with shiny scars trailing like tears from his blank sockets.

The whole time, Crowley was lying in the bed, completely unaware of absolutely everything around him. Gabriel had snatched him by the hand and slammed him to the ground, but Crowley's body was completely limp to it and even though he sported a few bruises on his shoulder and hips and cheek for a while, he hadn't woken up even a little.

It had been around the one-month mark when Gabriel's body began to nag him that he hadn't gotten off in a while. It felt wrong, but he thought maybe if he could just use Crowley's body, then he could release some pent-up anger and regain some energy to continue freezing time.

But as it turned out, Gabriel was attracted to the noises Crowley would make. His soft whines and the choked breath of trying to keep himself quiet. The way his slave listened to him and obeyed without question to make him happy. The warmth of his body as he pushed in, and the clenching around him at every shock of pain Crowley felt. But now, his slave unresponsive and silent, Gabriel was unable to get off. Crowley's body was cold. Tight, yes, but chilled to the touch and completely limp. And he didn't listen to Gabriel's demands and didn't make any of his delicious sounds.

For all intents and purposes, it was like fucking a human corpse.

After that first attempt, Gabriel didn't try to take him anymore. He told himself he was holding back so he would have much more anger to take out once Crowley did finally come back. But another part of him wondered if that would even happen.

So now that it was six months later, Gabriel was exhausted from holding time for so long, frustrated that he couldn't even get off to his own slave anymore, and growing increasingly anxious that someone would find out what he did and would take everything away from him.

He was becoming desperate. No, he didn't like that word for himself. That was a word for his slave. No, he was becoming... _resourceful_.

And in becoming resourceful, he came to a relatively uncomfortable solution. He needed help. Perhaps if he could make it appear as though Crowley had escaped to Earth, he could restart time for Earth, but keep holding it for Heaven and Hell. And then perhaps, if all went to plan, that wretched angel would find Crowley and nurse him back to health so Gabriel would have his precious slave back again. He could find something to frame the principality for later to ensure Gabriel would get his demon back.

Satisfied with this plan, and hoping that everything would go the way he wanted, he snapped his fingers to clothe Crowley, and gathered him into his arms. He spared a long look at Crowley's face, scarred and disfigured, and he knew that if an angel saw those scars, he'd know they were from holy water. And the first place he would check would be Heaven. No, he had to hide it. Make it seem like Hell had done it.

So with a wave of his hand, the holy scars on his cheeks disappeared, leaving faint burn scars instead, and his eyes were reformed, yellow but cloudy. Gabriel tried to clear them, but he was running low on miracles. All the other blessed burns disappeared from Crowley's body too, with regular burn scars left behind and large patches of dark, leathery burns in place of his wings. It was all he could do with the miracles quickly sapping even his backup reserves of energy. With the very last of his strength, he completely vanished the scar at the base of Crowley's spine, hiding all evidence that Heaven had anything to do with it.

He carried Crowley down the frozen escalators, through the streets that were eerily still, and hid him behind a bush on a corner not far from the angel's bookshop. Surely he would notice the demon's presence sooner or later, and would go investigate. Gabriel rearranged Crowley's limbs and, satisfied with his work, stepped back and snapped his fingers, allowing some of his hold on time to release. The humans began milling around, talking and going about their lives as though six months hadn't just gone by in the blink of an eye.

Gabriel staggered as strength began to creep back into his soul, and managed to teleport himself directly back to Heaven. From there, he pulled up a screen and watched.

* * *

It had been a month since Crowley's disappearance. The demon was known to disappear from time to time, but never like this. Any attempts at contacting him were left unanswered. Aziraphale paced in his bookshop, trying to ignore the puddle of some unnamed demon he had melted as the aftermath of an interrogation. The interrogation had answered one thing, if nothing else. Crowley wasn't in Hell.

Aziraphale snapped his fingers to clean the mess and hide the summoning circle under a rug. He wrung his hands together, growing increasingly nervous for his dear beloved. Because yes, even though they hid it well, and never admitted it aloud in public, he and Crowley were seeing each other. They were in a very happy relationship of 14 years, and he had never disappeared like this once they had become a couple.

Aziraphale was about to try calling Crowley's flat again, just in case—even though he had been to the demon's flat earlier that week and found it empty—because he was holding onto the possibility that Crowley was simply out doing errands when he had gone to check on him, and Crowley would come back home soon, and when Aziraphale would call, he would pick up and they would laugh over how protective and scared Aziraphale was.

But as soon as he picked up the phone to dial, a sudden alarm went off in Aziraphale's mind, making him stagger and drop the receiver. "What–?" He asked into the stale air of the bookshop. There was no reply, but the ringing alarm continued in his head. He got up and went outside, searching what could be the cause of such an alarm.

It was like a game of hot-and-cold, where he wandered the streets like a madman as he attempted to sniff out what was calling him. A block away from his bookshop, he felt a spike of pain race through him when he looked at a particular bush. And when he went to investigate, he had to pull away with a hand clamped to his mouth.

He took a second, then peered around the plant once more. And there he was. After an entire month of silence and fear and uncertainty, Aziraphale was finally looking at his dear Crowley. But something was very wrong. He was curled up, as though in pain, and he was wearing a thin silver collar that had a digital 01 on its display. He had scars and burns nearly covering his body, and he was completely unresponsive.

Sinking to the ground, Aziraphale felt tears gathering in his eyes and his throat grew tight. He sobbed, reaching a hand out and gently trailing his fingers down the burns on Crowley's face. He gathered the demon in his arms and used a miracle to hide them from any passing humans, and held on tightly.

"Oh my Crowley. My dear, sweet Crowley," Aziraphale whispered, not caring if Heaven heard him. He cradled his head in the crook of his elbow and used his other hand to brush his dirty hair from his face and ever so gently follow a faded scar down his cheek with his thumb. "What happened to you, my dear?" He strained to ask through a tight throat. "What happened?"

There was no reply, and Aziraphale was almost grateful for that. It looked like he was in a lot of pain, and the less he felt, the better.

He gathered Crowley more fully into his arms, feeling a small rush of relief when he felt a light breath against his neck, and stood up, carrying him swiftly to the bookshop. He warmed the shop and lit a fire in the fireplace all with a mere thought. He approached the sofa Crowley loved to lounge in, and laid him down to really examine what he was working with.

The first thing Aziraphale noticed were his eyes, and the deep scarring all around them. It was faded, and he could smell the remnants of a miracle left behind. This was no human interaction, then. Perhaps the demon he interrogated was lying? Or maybe Crowley was being hidden away from all the other demons as he was tortured? He had clearly been attacked by a supernatural entity.

Aziraphale gently cupped Crowley's face and ran his thumb over his eyelid, lifting ever so lightly so he could see what the damage was. It was obvious Crowley had been blinded. Aziraphale pressed his other thumb to Crowley's other eye, and summoned as much healing strength as he could into Crowley's eyes. When he pulled away, he felt a significant amount weaker, but Crowley's eyes were no longer clouded. He still wasn't awake. Aziraphale was sure that once he woke, he'd be able to see.

Distantly, he wondered if Heaven would notice the miracles he was using on Crowley, and would reprimand him for them. But he pushed it away. Crowley needed him now, he could deal with Heaven later.

Eyes taken care of, Aziraphale turned his attention to any other significant injuries. Crowley's hands were blistered and burned. His wrists calloused from some kind of restraints. Aziraphale gently lifted his shirt and nearly cried when he saw all the scars and fading bruises on Crowley's body. They had obviously happened weeks, if not months ago, possibly before he was even captured. Was he being bullied by other demons, and just didn't want to tell Aziraphale about it? Did they finally go too far, and leave him to die? Was the collar some sick trick, to label him as some kind of pet? To demean and shame him?

Aziraphale forced himself to calm down, to just breathe through his anger. He could ask Crowley as soon as he woke. Find out the whole story of what happened. For now, he would heal him and he would stay with him every step of the way.

He felt along the collar, searching for a way to remove it. There was no clasp, no visible way to remove it. He found some buttons on the side of the display screen and tried pressing them. All that changed was the number on the display rising or lowering, depending what he pressed. Curious but also confused, he tried holding down one of the buttons, to see if there was any kind of settings option. He wasn't great with technology, but usually if he just willed it to work for him, it did what he wanted. So as he pressed the button, he willed it to show him the settings or just pop open or something.

But instead, the higher the number rose, the more Crowley began to shiver. Thinking he was cold, Aziraphale draped a blanket on him and continued with the collar. Once it reached 10, the numbers stopped rising, and Crowley was nearly convulsing with how hard he was shivering. Aziraphale winced and turned up the heat higher in the room.

It was only when a tiny, strained squeak hissed from Crowley's throat, that Aziraphale realized the shivers were not of feeling cold, but of pain.

"Oh! Oh, I'm sorry my dear!" Aziraphale fretted, immediately holding the other button to lower it back down to 01, and Crowley's body, paler than it was before, slumped bonelessly into the sofa again. Aziraphale felt beyond sick. He stood up and paced for a moment, damning whoever did this to his beloved. Tears burned in his eyes and after he had calmed down, he knelt by the sofa again to inspect the damage. Despite the sudden slew of pain, Crowley hadn't woken up.

Aziraphale swallowed thickly. There must have been something awful happening, but Aziraphale wasn't sure what. He took a breath and gently pulled down the blanket. He had to see what other injuries there were, for Crowley to be so unsettlingly unconscious.

He gently tugged at the hem of Crowley's shirt, and when he lifted the shirt completely off, he was confused when the littering of small scars and splotchy, yellow bruises were all he could find. So he pulled Crowley to sit up and lean against his shoulder so he could reveal his wings and examine them, see if there was some kind of trauma there that was debilitating his corporation. He noticed that instead of wings tucked nicely away into their pocket of the ether, there were two nasty burn scars in their place.

Aziraphale gasped and his breath broke into a guttural sob.

"Crowley! Oh my dear, your wings! Your stunning, _beautiful_ wings!" He reached out with his soul, trying harder to find them; maybe they were tucked deeply away into the space behind Crowley. But they were well and truly gone. Aziraphale sobbed, wrapping his arms around him and holding tightly. Crowley stayed limp, cheek pressed to Aziraphale's chest. They stayed like that for ages as Aziraphale tried to calm himself down.

Unable to fathom how much pain Crowley was in, and not blaming him at all for needing to stay unconscious, Aziraphale miracled him into soft pajamas and carried him up the stairs to their bed. He snapped his fingers, both clearing the bed and clothing himself in night clothes as well, and crawled into bed with his precious demon snug in his arms. "My love," he breathed, reaching up and combing his fingers soothingly through Crowley's hair. "You rest now, I'll take care of you."

Aziraphale closed his eyes and let his mind wander as he petted Crowley's dirty hair both to soothe Crowley as well as himself. He thought about how much effort he had gone to to find Crowley. He thought about the demon who swore until his dying breath that he didn't know where Crowley was and that Hell was searching for him. He thought about his reports to Heaven, casually mentioning that things seemed slow, but never giving too much away.

And here he was, a month later, with Crowley safe with him once more. It was everything he could have hoped for. He had his demon back. All that was left was to heal him. But they could take their time with that.

Aziraphale's mind drifted and he recognized the sensations of sleep before he was taken completely under. He wondered if going to sleep would be detrimental if Crowley woke up, but he decided to risk it. He was exhausted, after all. Nonstop fretting was finally getting to him.

So he dreamed.

He dreamed of light things at first. Memories of himself and Crowley having a nice dinner. Of getting pleasantly buzzed. Of walks in the park. Of just chatting for hours on end. Then the dreams slowly shifted to darker things. Flashes of pain and fear. He wasn't sure where they were coming from.

Suddenly, he was standing in a dimly-lit room. Cold, stone walls stared back at him. He blinked, squinting into the darkness, and heard a soft whine. He whirled around to face the sound, and was met with a pitiful sight.

Immediately, Aziraphale's heart broke, and he took a quick step back, afraid to get too close. It was Crowley, beaten and bleeding, curled up on the floor. He blinked up at Aziraphale with distrust in his eyes, and Aziraphale had to harshly remind himself that he was dreaming. When Crowley opened his mouth with a low groan, stretching out a shaking arm to him, Aziraphale had enough of the nightmare and shook himself awake.

Tears were streaming down Aziraphale's face and he sat up in bed to wipe them away. Crowley didn't move at all.

Aziraphale didn't want to go back to sleep. He really didn't want to see those awful nightmares of his dear Crowley. He had enough on his plate of worrying about what happened to him, and yet his mind was forcing him to see these awful images? No, he refused to let them win. He had Crowley back and he wasn't going to ruin that with some silly dreams.

And so he stayed awake for weeks, fretting more and more about Crowley's well-being as it was becoming concerning that Crowley wasn't awake yet, but he told himself that he would wake when he was ready, and Aziraphale wanted to be right there when he did.

He brought stories to read aloud, just in case Crowley could hear him, he talked to him and told him about his day—not that there was much to say, since he had been spending all his time at Crowley's side—and he would even miracle himself snacks or tea, even though the miracle left them tasting sub par. He would alternate sitting in the bed and combing his fingers through Crowley's now-clean hair, and sitting on a chair next to the bed, so he could see Crowley's face as he read.

Every day, he tried small miracles to ease Crowley's suffering. Cleaning his hair, erasing the deepness of his scars, pain relief, he even snapped his fingers to change Crowley's clothes so he wouldn't feel grimy. Even though he was cold to the touch, Crowley was sweating quite a bit, which was concerning on a whole other level. But at the same time, it gave him excuse to touch Crowley's hair, to blot away the beading sweat on his brow, to bundle him more firmly in the blankets.

But despite everything, Crowley never woke.

Eventually, after nearly a month of sitting at Crowley's side and doing nothing, Aziraphale decided to try holding Crowley again. He had summoned a space heater and had a few extra blankets on top of him.

Getting underneath all the blankets was a bit of an endeavor, and it left Aziraphale a little out of breath. But he finally was able to slide his arms around Crowley again, and his heart stuttered at the contact. He had missed this so much. It wasn't the same, not by a long shot, but it was something. Just knowing that he had Crowley right there in his arms was soothing to his soul.

He didn't even realize he had fallen asleep until he was already dreaming. They started pleasant, like before, but more quickly than last time, they shifted to darker emotions.

Aziraphale tried to shake himself awake again before he had to see the nightmare version of Crowley, but a hand suddenly clutched at his ankle, causing him to fall backward and scramble, eyes wide as his surroundings slowly became clear to him. He was back in the cold, dark stone room, and it was Crowley's shaking hand that was wrapped around his ankle. Aziraphale made a small squeak of fear.

"It's not real," he told himself, closing his eyes and shaking his head, trying to wake up. "It's not real."

Slowly, the hand released him. Aziraphale peeked his eyes open and saw Crowley sitting back on his heels, staring wide-eyed down at the floor, his hands gripping tightly into his shirt.

Aziraphale swallowed, sitting up straighter and looking at the love of his life. Even though he knew it was a dream, it still felt nice to see Crowley moving around, not the lifeless body that was keeping him company in their bed. He didn't look good, by any means. He had dark bruises on his arms and a blackened eye. His lip was split and he had some crusty blood caked under his nose. He looked significantly worse than the last nightmare he'd had. But nevertheless, it warmed Aziraphale to see him at least moving. "You're not real," Aziraphale started, trying to remind himself. But his lips quirked up in a small smile. "But it's so good to see you, my dear."

Crowley continued staring down at the floor, his hands tightening in his thin black shirt so much that Aziraphale wondered if he'd tear it. There were a few moments of silence, and Aziraphale was about to try speaking again, when Crowley spoke through gritted teeth and a dry throat, "Where am I?"

That...wasn't what he expected at all. Aziraphale shifted closer to him, to get a better look, and even though Crowley stiffened, he didn't move away. Aziraphale reached out and ran a thumb down Crowley's cheek, where he knew in the real world there were fading scars, and frowned. "What do you mean, Love?"

Crowley's tongue darted out to wet his lips. "Where are we? Why are you here? Where's my Master?"

"Master?" Aziraphale's mental alarm began to ring, and he reached out to wrap an arm around the shaking demon, shifting to sit side by side. "What are you talking about?"

"He...my wings..." Crowley choked, his arms sliding to hug himself and he curled over his knees, forehead to the ground, making himself into a small ball. "He took them. He took _everything_."

Now thoroughly alarmed, Aziraphale began to wonder if this was a dream at all. He shifted to kneel in front of Crowley, and grabbed his shoulders to lift him back up. "What do you mean? Who did this to you? What's going on?"

At the sound of his raised voice—or perhaps it was the way he anxiously shook Crowley as he spoke—Crowley completely crumbled, fading off into babbles of apologies and pleas.

Aziraphale felt utterly sick, and was slowly aware that the surroundings were dimming. He was waking up. Seconds before he woke completely, he heard a frantic, broken voice, _"Don't leave me!"_

He shot upright in bed, breathing hard with sweat plastering his hair to his forehead. He immediately turned to Crowley, tugging the blankets down to look at him.

But nothing had changed. He was in the same position as before, as though nothing had happened. Although he did have a sheen of sweat on his face that wasn't there when Aziraphale fell asleep. And Aziraphale had a sinking feeling that he knew why he wasn't awake yet. He was stuck somewhere, in that dark room, deep inside his own mind. And if Aziraphale had to guess, he wasn't sure if Crowley was even there by choice, if he even knew where he was at all. One thing was for sure though, he had definitely spoken to the real Crowley in his dream.

Things were far worse than Aziraphale had ever imagined.

**Author's Note:**

>  ~~Maybe~~ I'll continue this. I wrote pretty much all of this in one sitting, because I was insanely inspired during my.....what, maybe 4th full reread of Repossession? So inspired, in fact, that I actually [drew art for my own damn story](https://cuddlyhawk.tumblr.com/post/614605986052947968/looks-both-ways-drops-this-and-runs-yeah-i), and if that's not saying something about inspiration, I don't know what is.  
>  ~~But anyway, if I don't continue this, then you can decide if it gets a happy ending, or if it'll forever be a mystery. Maybe he can only talk to Crowley in his dreams now? Maybe Crowley finally wakes up? Maybe Gabriel comes back to take him, or maybe they all live happily ever after? It's up to you! Or maybe if you can give me something good to work with in the comments, I'll have an idea of where to go from here, because as of now, this is as far as I've planned.~~
> 
> **EDIT: Alright, LoudAlligator and I are working on continuing this story! So make sure to subscribe so you don't miss when we post the next chapter! It started with this measly 7k story, and with their help so far, we are all the way up to just over 60k (and we're only about halfway done with what we have planned)  
> **  
>  You guys are in for a roller coaster of a ride, and we hope you enjoy it!


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